Authors: Patrick Abbruzzi
Detective Rizzo had really gotten lucky. He had delivered his prints t
o
B.C.I. and they were returned in less tha
n
two hours.
The fiend’s real name was Wilbur
Hartmilland he was originally from Memphis
,
Tennessee. He had prior arrests for burglary, assault with intent to kill, and endangering the welfare of a child, and this was just in Tennessee. He had served a ten-year stretch in a federal prison for the manslaughte
r
of a teenager who had made the unforgivable mistake of calling him
a
bum. He was also wanted on a minor traffic violation, which escalated int
o
an arrest warrant when Hartmill failed to show up in court.
This information made Detective Rizzo extremely happy. It was all he needed to hol
d
Wilbur, until, hopefully, someone came forward to claim the baby.
Bobby also planned to contact the local paper, the Staten Island Advance
,
and ask for their assistance in seeking someone related to the baby. In time
s
of need the paper did assist the police, but overall was considered liberal in its views. Most Staten Islander’s read it to see which o
f
their neighbors got arrested, who died and the times of the movi
e
showings in their local neighborhoods.
John and his partner headed back to sector Eddie to resume patrol but stil
l
declined to eat. It was roughly 12:30 P.M. when they arrived there and Frank was driving up Broa
d
Street at almost the same spot where they first spotted Hartmill.
Then it happened.
“120 C-Charlie,” called the radio dispatcher.
“Charlie standing by Central,” answered Frankie.
“120 Charlie, respond to 185
ParkhillAvenue, apartment L David. See th
e
complainant on a missing child,” directed the radio dispatcher.
“120 Charlie, 10-4. Message received.”
“Central, do you have anything further on that assignment?
”
asked Frankie.
“Negative, sector Charlie. Just see the complainant on a missing child.”
“Do you have a call back number?
”
asked Frankie.
“That’s affirmative,” responded Central.
“120 Charlie is requesting that you call back the complainant via land line. Please ascertain if the missing child is an infant. If it is, please notify the 120 squad to also respond.”
“Will do,” responded Central.
Sector Charlie, with Frankie and Willie, was en route to the
Parkhil
l
complex. This was the first break in the case, but it was still no
t
known if the missing child was an infant. Missing kids were commo
n
occurrences in the 120
th
and the majority of them were runaways. Some were kids wh
o
just lost track of the time and stayed out later than usual, worrying their parents to death. It was Easter Sunday and most kids were huntin
g
for Easter eggs or involved in eating their chocolate bunnies.
Frank and I had been monitoring the conversation betwee
n
the dispatcher and sector Charlie.
“What do you think Frank?
”
I asked my partner as he drove us towards the Parkhill address.
“I think we’re probably going to be meeting some frantic parents.”
“Yeah, I think this is the job we’ve been waiting for all day,” I said with a sigh.
When Frank pulled up to the front of the building he double parked th
e
RMP and notified the radio dispatcher that sector Eddie was also on th
e
scene. Frankie and Willie had arrived only a few minute
s
earlier and were waiting in the lobby for us. After a nod from Frankie, we all walked down the hall and passed the bank of elevators to apartment Lobb
y
David.
“I don’t like the fact that it’s on the ground floor,” said Frankie.
“Why not?
”
I asked.
“Ground level affords burglars easier entry, unless you have steel bars o
n
the windows,” Frank chimed in.
We reached the apartment and Frankie pushed the buzzer on the door. It was opened immediately and we were greeted by a man and a woman i
n
their late twenties.
The woman had a bathrobe on and was crying softly. The man was wearing an old sweat shirt and a pair of denim jeans covered in dried paint. They invited us in.
Frankie was the senior officer of our group and also the recorder in sector Charlie s
o
he began by asking what the problem was. The rest of us all knew no
t
to interrupt him. This was his job and he would handle it his way.
“Please come into the kitchen,” suggested the man.
We followed him through a hallway and into the kitchen, unable to avoid the smell of fresh paint. Gesturing toward the chairs around the small table, he invited us to si
t
down.
“Normally, I would have invited you all into the living room but my wif
e
and I were up all night painting it. We just moved in two weeks ago and we’ve been busy painting and buying furniture,” said the husband.
“Our baby has been kidnapped,” he added, barely getting the word
s
out.
As he said this, his wife broke down into deep sobs which caused her husband to start crying as well, wide, ragged tears streaming down his cheeks. After a long moment, the husband struggled to compose himself and finally spoke again.
“We spent most of the night up painting. Forgive me, officers. My name i
s
Robert Jenkins and this is my wife, Gloria.”
“Mr. Jenkins, how old is the baby?
”
Frankie asked him, making certain to keep the baby’s age in the present tense and not the past.
“Our baby is two months old. Why would anyone want to take him?
”
Mrs. Jenkins’ voice broke as she struggled to control her sobs.
“How long do you think it will take before you find our baby, officer?
”
asked the distraught father. While he waited for an answer, he wrapped one of his large hands around the woman’s smaller ones.
Frankie was at a loss for words because he knew that very shortly he would have to as
k
one or both to go with him to Saint Vincent’s Hospital to view the baby’
s
body and make a positive identification.
“Mr. And Mrs. Jenkins, I must tell you that a baby was found earlier this morning. He was being carried by a drifter not too far from here. W
e
took the baby to the hospital for treatment,” explained Frankie a
s
calmly as possible.
It was obvious that he was trying to break the news to them a
s
slowly and gently as possible.
“Our baby is alright, isn’t he?
”
asked Mrs. Jenkins.
“He’s alive, isn’t he? Please tell me that he’s okay,” demanded Mr. Jenkins.
Death notifications were the hardest task that any cop, anywhere, faces.
At that moment, each of us would rather have been walking the toughes
t
foot beat in the toughest precinct than to be there with these two parents.
“Mr. And Mrs. Jenkins, I have to ask you to come with me to Saint Vincent’s Hospital,” said Frankie.
“For the love of heaven, why? Are you telling me that our son is dead?
”
asked the father.
Frank could not hedge anymore. He had to come out and be brutally honest. It was cruel and inhuman to keep them dangling any longer.
“If the baby is yours, if it is yours, then yes, it is deceased. We need you t
o
view the baby and make a positive identification.” Frankie paused for only a second then added, “Do you want to call anyone at this time?
”
“No. Let’s just go and see the baby. Maybe it’s not ours,” said the grieving father, still stunned with disbelief.
We waited while the young parents grabbed their jackets and keys then followed them outside. Mr. Jenkins led his wife to the rear parking lot but Frankie said it would be better if they rode with him i
n
the RMP.
Except for the soft sobs coming from Mrs. Jenkins, the ride to the hospital was dead silent. Frankie radioed Central to let them know he and Willie were e
n
route to the hospital then requested that the radio dispatcher contac
t
the 120
th
squad and let them know they were going there for identification purposes. Before arriving at the hospital the radio dispatcher directe
d
Frankie to notify the squad room if the parents made a positive identification.
Frankie pulled into the hospital’s parking lot and stoppe
d
the RMP between two ambulances that were parked and out of service. Whil
e
Willie escorted Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins through the entrance, Frankie let Central know that they had arrived and would be out of service for th
e
remainder of the tour.
Willie had made a good choice by leading Mr. an
d
Mrs. Jenkins through a delivery doorway instead of any of the main doors or even the emergency entryway. The media were already encampe
d
near those entrances and had practically had encircled the hospital lik
e
Indians surrounding a wagon train. They had no mercy.
Although it was Easter Sunday, the delivery door was open. Both Frankie and Willie kne
w
it would be because the hospital workers often use
d
it as a point of exit and entrance. They even took smoking breaks on th
e
loading dock.
The news media had converged on the hospital when they heard that a family had finally reported a missing child. It was also apparent that some reporters had telephoned the precinct and spoken to Lieutenan
t
McShane.
Tensions were frequently high between the media and the police. It had always been the police department’s perception that the media dealt solely i
n
sensationalism and only worried about headlines and selling papers. On the other hand, th
e
media’s perception of the police was that they prevented them from their first amendment privileges. In any event, Frankie had never hear
d
of a cameraman putting down his camera to lend assistance at any emergency scene.
The four officers and the distraught parents made their way through the hospita
l
kitchen which adjoined the loading dock and delivery entrance and was just a single, huge room with a conveyor belt parting it down th
e
middle. On either side of the long belt were stacks of dishes, glasses
,
trays of plastic spoons and knives and a few chafing dishes.
It was almost 1:00 P.M. and lunch was being prepared for delivery to ever
y
patient in the hospital. The first kitchen worker on the line placed a
n
empty tray on the belt. Then, as the tray made its way along the belt fro
m
beginning to end, other kitchen workers and dietary aides were at various stations along its entire length. Each tray had a room number, the patient’s name and type of diet. Some specified a low calorie diet while others rea
d
regular or 1800 calories. Each worker at his or her respective statio
n
knew exactly what to place on or what to withhold from the tray.
As each completed tray finished its journey along the belt, other worker
s
placed them on portable delivery carts. It was amazing to see that the entire process of feeding every patient was completed in less than one hour.
After passing through the kitchen, Frankie led the group to the sub-basement, which was also utilized as a temporary morgue where bodie
s
could be kept until claimed either by a licensed mortuary or the medica
l
examiner’s office. This baby’s death had been ruled a homicide and therefore would have to undergo an autopsy by the NYC Medical examiner. Th
e
results would then be added to the death certificate and its contents would b
e
subsequently used by the prosecutor in any criminal proceedings.